


Boy, You Gotta Watch Yourself

by ladyhoneydarlinglove



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, McGenji Week, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Prompt - Touch, depressed and reckless Genji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyhoneydarlinglove/pseuds/ladyhoneydarlinglove
Summary: For all its enhancements and augmentations, Genji's new body lacks the ability to truly interact with the world around it, and he struggles to adapt as a mockery of a man.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Companion-ish piece to [Now Look Into My Eyes (And Tell Me)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7698943).

Dr. Ziegler’s cybernetics provide enhancements to his new form Genji could not even dream of while he lay immobile and impatient for weeks in his hospital bed. The body carefully constructed just for him is faster and more agile than anything Genji could have achieved without augmentation. When he runs, he is but a blur, neatly slicing through every record previously set on the practices ranges, including those by Commanders Morrison and Reyes. When he jumps, he rises twice as high, can turn and twist in midair without disorientation, and lands with barely a sound. When he climbs, he scales distances he once thought inconceivable, hands and feet expertly engineered to catch hold of any surface, propelling his as far as needed.

And yet for everything Genji’s new body gifts to him, he finds the entire thing to be despicable.

For all Dr. Ziegler’s effort—though Genji is loathe to discredit a woman whose entire life’s work he encapsules—the finer details of sensation elude even her expert creations. Shortly after Genji’s new form is complete, Dr. Ziegler begins running daily diagnostics checks, followed by her usual medical examinations. Her delicate hands run over almost every part of Genji, checking vitals signs and tweaking parts, and though Genji registers the pressure of them on his form, they are not warm.

He pays it little mind at first, his new body turning Genji into a newborn colt on wobbly legs, too busy figuring out how to walk to be bothered with such small semantics. But the knowledge of it lingers in the back of his mind, and with every new day, Genji takes a mental note of what he can and cannot feel, tucking it away for later.

He does not feel the warmth of Dr. Ziegler’s hands, or Mr. Lindholm’s when he begins outfitting Genji with weapons, a process which the good doctor refuses to take part in. When he meets Strike Commander Morrison for the first time in his new body, the man shakes his hand firmly while clapping him on the shoulder. Genji senses the touch, but not the rough callouses he sees on Commander Morrison’s fingers and palms.

Genji attempts to ignore the issue, already overloaded with too many other fears and anxieties and doubts over his new life, but within his isolation, there was blissful ignorance. Being allowed out of quarantine and encouraged to begin interacting with the world once more, Genji can no longer ignore the obvious shortcomings of the cybernetics.

He runs his fingers over decorative plants in the hallways, and the waxy texture of the leaves escapes him. When he meets Captain Amari, he shakes her hand, and cannot discern the soft texture of her cotton gloves. When he encounters Jesse McCree for the first time out of his hospital room, the man laughs easily and at some point, places his ridiculous cowboy hat on Genji’s head. When Genji pulls it off with a sharply worded insult, his fingers glide easily over the surface, but the suppleness of the leather eludes his touch.

As he solidifies his place in this strange new world, Genji comes to understand he will forever interact with it through a veil, where sensation is present but feeling is not.

Genji says nothing, because everything about him is revolutionary and he knows Dr. Ziegler did her best to make him as human as possible. But he also knows that in essence, she failed. Genji is no better, no more alive than the soulless hordes of omnics Overwatch once obliterated from the face of the earth. Genji would rather die at Hanzo’s hands a thousand times over than be forced to continue his life as this mockery of a man.

But Genji made a promise to Overwatch to aid in their battle against the Shimadas, and in the wake of his devastating losses, honor is all Genji has left. So he endures.

* * *

Months pass, and while Genji’s body excels above and beyond expectation, his psyche quickly devolves into something dark and haggard beyond comprehension. Every day brings with it fresh reminders of what he can no longer do, or touch, or feel. He cannot eat; he tried once, against Dr. Ziegler’s advice, and wound up back in isolation for three days as the good doctor worked frantically to stabilize him. He has not tried again. At most, Dr. Ziegler allows him no more than four ounces of purified water once every two weeks. The indulgent cool wave of liquid washing down his throat becomes the pathetic high point of Genji’s new existence.

Touch continues to elude him. When he’s finished training, Genji will go to the showers, cranking up the heat of the water as far as it will go. He stands under the spray unmoving until McCree finds him and forces him out, often hours later. His hands turn red and raw where the nearly boiling water hits his skin, and yet Genji only ever feels the spray, never the heat.

When a snowstorm hits the Swiss Headquarters, Genji sits on an observation deck and allows himself to be buried under the onslaught. McCree and Dr. Ziegler dig him out the next day, the joints of his limbs too frozen for Genji to move them. When Dr. Ziegler yells at him, Genji grits his teeth, and tries not to think about how the cold barely touched him.

Sometimes, when he’s feeling either particularly generous or particularly pissed off, Commander Reyes offers to spar with Genji. The first time, Genji is skeptical, but the super soldier proves to be the only real challenge Genji will ever face on the mat. Speed and agility mean little when he can’t even knock his opponent off his feet, and Commander Reyes adapts so quickly to counter Genji’s fighting style Genji can rarely throw him off guard. Still, after a certain point, Commander Reyes grows tired, sweat slicked and panting for breath. His skin slides more easily under Genji’s blows, but he never feels how soaked the Commander becomes after hours of exertion.

To live in the world and yet always be a step away from it is agonizing. Distress and desperation eat away at Genji until he becomes little more than a bitter shell of whatever he may have been, snappish and angry and forever frustrated that he can’t simply end his plight on his own terms. Overwatch has him bound until their war with the Shimadas is over. Genji counts down every day until his freedom.

* * *

The closest Genji comes to true sensation is in the heat of battle, with something like adrenaline pumping through his artificial veins. When Genji suffer an injury, the sensors on his form go near haywire as they attempt to take in everything happening. Sometimes, he gets hit hard enough that wires and connections knock themselves loose, and sparks dance for the briefest of moments along his nerves before everything goes numb.

It’s pitiful, but it’s all Genji has. So he throws himself into the fray, with no regard for his well being, pushing his form to whatever limits he can. He suffers for it, cracked armor, frayed or disconnected limbs, a broken faceplate once or twice necessitating the need for emergency oxygen. He returns each time to an upset Dr. Ziegler, who still patches him up without a second thought. “I expected more from you, Genji,” she tells him each time, and the disappointment in her tone weighs heavily on Genji’s mind. He knows he shouldn’t be trying to thwart her life’s achievements for such trivial fantasies as touch.

Yet when he wakes up from his sedations with limbs in perfect working order, Genji can’t help but recall the tiny pinpricks on his skin when they came undone. And so he returns to the battle, heedless once again.

* * *

And then one day, Genji throws himself to the wolves and comes out as battered and broken as ever; only there’s no time to call Dr. Ziegler before Blackwatch has to move. So Genji finds himself in the very peculiar position of being repaired in the unideal location of an abandoned warehouse by the even more unideal choice of repairer, Jesse McCree.

"Darlin', do me a favor," McCree huffs, trepidation written in every line of his body as he surveys the extent of Genji’s damage. "Stop throwing yourself head first into the rodeo. I know this body can take a beating, but you ain’t a goddamn tank."

"If this form cannot handle the rigors of battle, then perhaps it is not worth having," Genji responds curtly. Behind his faceplate, Genji’s face is set in a deep frown. McCree is a skilled mechanic, and Genji will admit only to himself how impressed he is with the number of vehicles he’s seen the man manage to hotwire under duress, but he is by no means a doctor, or an engineer. Genji does not trust him anywhere near the delicate circuitry of his cybernetics, and to judge by the rising panic in his face, neither does McCree.

“Really,” McCree says flatly. “Well, I’ll be sure to tell Angela the next time I see her how highly you think of her life’s work then.”

Genji flinches, lowering his head. He cares little for the damage he encounters in battle—a small price to pay for what little feeling it brings him—but the thought of Angela’s inevitable disappointment hangs over him like a stormcloud nonetheless, all the worse for being brought up by McCree. He apologizes, and lies about trying to be more careful.

McCree, seemingly satisfied, turn his attention to what few repairs he might be able to handle, muttering under his breath all the while about the engineer who got himself shot, and Genji’s penchant for reckless behavior. To his dismay, Genji finds his guilt growing rapidly under McCree’s complaints. His defenses are tailored to Angela’s disappointed concern, her gentle affection, and the craft and care with which she pieces him back together. McCree’s pissed off exasperation is far more disconcerting, clinging to the back of Genji’s neck unpleasantly as McCree performs surface repairs. He wears it with the air of a friend who stands back as you get punched in the face, then leans over and says Hey asshole, you deserved that. His annoyance at Genji’s clear disregard for his own well being leaves Genji strangely mollified, and for the first time he can recall, uneager to return so recklessly into the fray.

When McCree moves on to deeper repairs, he does not sedate Genji as he should. Genji says nothing, allowing McCree to work as he wishes. He braces for the impact of sensation he knows will come when McCree reconnects the first of his loose wires, but the jolt still courses through him like lightening, and Genji yells against his will. His nerves tingle, not quite painful, but not quite pleasant either. Genji considers the price fair. Still, guilt washes over him anew when McCree devolves into a minor panic, so Genji offers him an explanation. When McCree presses, Genji finds himself relenting. “Imagine being able to touch everything around you, but you must always wear a pair of gloves,” Genji tells him. “You cannot directly interact with anything. That is how I receive most sensations now.” He struggles not to dwell on the fact that opening up to McCree easier than he wishes it to be.

Genji waits as McCree returns to examining his blueprints, expecting McCree to proceed from this point with caution, for fear of facing Angela’s wrath.

McCree does not.

He proceeds to fiddle with Genji’s circuitry with little regard as to what actually needs repairs, pulling on wires and reconnecting them just to illicit a response. The act catches Genji off guard, leaving him no time to prepare for the onslaught as McCree touches Genji in the only way Genji can truly feel anymore. It leaves Genji working hard to suppress gasps and whimpers as he twitches, every nerve in his body slowly burning until he might as well be on fire.

And then it’s over, Genji shaking and trying not to fall apart on the table while McCree fixes his faceplate nearby. Sensation and emotion coil tightly in Genji’s chest until it’s nigh unbearable, and Genji isn’t entirely sure he wants to know what that says about his relationship with McCree. He tries so hard not to think about it Genji almost misses the cold draft that brushes over his exposed face. Almost.

Genji freezes, breath catching in his throat. He can feel the chill of the air touching his scar ridden cheeks, and a musty smell lingering in his nose. He brings a hand up, fingers brushing against his face, and almost recoils at how strangely warm the synthetic fiber feels. He traces along the edges of a scar he can’t see until it meets a rough, blotchy patch on his face, and then he pulls away, bile rising in his throat at the thought how he must appear with nothing to hide his flaws.

A few feet away, McCree hums to himself as he repairs Genji’s broken faceplate. The sight of him has Genji’s raw nerves prickling with something he won’t name.

Without allowing himself to think about it, Genji moves from his perch on the repair table, quietly making his way to stand behind McCree. He reaches out, placing one hand on the small of McCree’s back, the other coming to rest over his left hand. He feels when McCree stops breathing, shoulders tensing as he obeys Genji’s wordless guiding, dropping the faceplate onto his work table. Genji tugs on McCree’s wrist, and McCree slowly turns around.

For a moment, they only stare at each other. McCree guards his emotions well behind easy smiles and his thick drawl, but there is no mistaken the surprise and curiosity on his face now. Genji searches for more, disgust or pity, but nothing arises. McCree looks at him as though Genji is a rarity, a privilege granted to only a select few.

Genji almost imagines he can feel his cheeks heating as he wraps his hands arounds McCree’s wrists, bringing his hands to Genji’s face. They settle easily on his cheeks, and for the first time since Genji met him, he can feel the callouses on McCree’s hands. And they are warm. So incredibly warm.

**Author's Note:**

> If you too enjoy cowboys and cyborgs destroying your life, hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ladyhoneylove) or [tumblr](http://ladyhoneydarlinglove.tumblr.com/).


End file.
